The Owl's Test
by FredNeverDied
Summary: When a teenaged Telemachus stumbles across the suitors' plot just taking form, he needs the help of something a bit mightier than himself to handle the problem; a certain owl-eyed goddess takes the opportunity to see just what Odysseus' son is made of.


H

 _Here's a small piece I wrote for English class a month ago. The prompt was to take a character we've read about in class and write a story about them going on a journey; wild card rule was that someone's got to have a named weapon. Technically, this is fanfiction about the Odyssey, although most subsequent Greek myths were fanfction too. I dunno-the definition gets a little hazy with ancient mythology, especially with character rights. ;) Anyway, hope you enjoy!_

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 _The Owl's Test_

Telemachus cursed under his breath as underbrush scraped his face, but despite the sting of it, shook his head to clear his hair from the scrub and continued to plunge on through the forest. He ducked under a few taller branches and pushed aside the whippy young ones of some new trees, even disturbing an enormous owl at one point and having to leap back before the offended bird took a swipe at him with her claw. By his reckoning, he'd been crashing through the woods for the past half hour and was thoroughly disgruntled by this point. A prize goat had got loose early that morning and the young prince happened across the herder soon after, having gone for an early run. Philotius was bemoaning the loss, but with one of his men laid up with a broken ankle, he could do little to go after the lost creature. Telemachus, knowing little activity awaited him at home, offered himself to as a retrieval party and promptly set out. However, having now plotted a mile through this wilder part of Ithaca, zigging and zagging through the areas a goat was most likely to hide, he was, decidedly, goatless.

Telemachus sighed and concluded the goat really had wandered to a different area of the island. Swatting a branch from his path, he changed course and began to head back to the cleared path that would get him out of the trees quickest. There was a creek ahead, running through a clearing just off the trail, perhaps he'd stop for a drink—

"That's just what I'm telling you!" came an angry voice from just ahead. Telemachus froze at the unexpected sound of the grown man, then began to pick his way forward, taking care to keep from snapping any twigs.

"...it's been thirteen years now, it's been over..." the voice was saying, quieter now.

"You remember him though," said another voice, his tone not quite so convicted as his words, "We would be killed. Should we not wait a little longer? Just to see?"

"Three years Eurymachus, it's been over for three years," reminded the first, and Telemachus grit his teeth. Of the men left on Ithaca, Eurymachus was one of his least favorite, and if that other voice was who he thought it was, his opinion of the two men was not rising overall.

"But Antinous," said Eurymachus (Telemachus wrinkled his nose—he wished he hadn't been right.) "Think of his strength and fury—what would Odysseus do to us?"

At this, Telemachus perked up. That's what this was about? _Odysseus_? What did these men want with his father? And what was Antinous planning that might evoke Odysseus' fury?

The youth crept closer to the conversation in the clearing.

"But think," Antinous insisted. "The lady of the house. Penelope in all her glory. Imagine _her_ —"

"Well, yes..." muttered Eurymachus, clearly beginning to be swayed.

"If I could—if _anyone_ —could marry that woman, and live inside her house..." Antinous waned.

"Yes, imagine..." Eurymachus said, but Telemachus missed the rest of his sentence as he was swallowing hard to maintain composure and forcing himself to take deep breaths.

How long had _this_ been going on? How long had they been meaning to begin this? If Antinous was talking, who else? Was his mother not respected enough for that? Was not _Odysseus_?

It was a moment before he picked back up on what the men were saying.

"...and the estate," Eurymachus was saying. "All that wealth just waiting— _wasting_ —for a little boy who will never earn what his dead father left for him."

"Exactly," said Antinous, "The gold and lands and gifts and his acres of pigs—"

"Mmm," agreed Eurymachus, "I could eat a pig right now."

"Why not?" said Antinous, "We could raid his herds right now. There's only that old swineherd on it, the fool, who's to stop us? That could be our lives. If we gather enough men as suitors for Penelope, how could any servant throw us out? We'll remain there, an army of us, and we could begin on that wealth now!"

"My Eurymachus!" exclaimed the other, "What an idea! We'll begin now, the two of us, and with enough men we could live in that luxury as long as we please until Penelope is forced to choose."

"Or until Odysseus comes home," said Antinous, and there was something of a cruel smile to his voice that made Telemachus want to spit. Eurymachus laughed loudly at the joke, and, by the sound of it, clapped his companion on the arm; they could be heard clumbering around in the clearing in the clearing in a good-natured wrestle for a moment.

Well. That would be the last thing they ever did. Telemachus, now seeing red, went to his hip and withdrew a short-sword from his belt. The dagger, Silver Tooth, as it was called, had once belonged to his father when he too was a youth, but Telemachus had borrowed the weapon from their storehouses for the morning should he come across any wild dogs on the goat hunt. Perhaps he hadn't known these would be the dogs he would kill, but this slaughter of beasts was equally as fitting.  
He was just pushing aside foliage to reach the dell when the branch beneath his hand lurched forwards as something burst in from the clearing.

With a hushed scream, Telemachus scrambled back in shock; scraping his hands on roots and rocks as fell into the dirt. Heartbeat thumping wildly, he blinked in surprise as he realized the men had not, in fact, rushed in at him, but there was only the great owl from before, sitting in front of him and blinking in what he thought, ludicrously, was an exasperated manner.

Not bothering to feel embarrassed for his mistake, nor wonder why there was such an owl out at noon; Telemachus regained his feet and found his dagger where he'd dropped it. He was just beginning to go again, the men still audibly crashing around in the clearing, when the owl spoke.

"I wouldn't advise that," it said.

Again, Telemachus could only just retain a shout of alarm and stumbled away, swinging Silver Tooth absurdly, as if he were under attack from the bird now out of reach. It blinked again in that derisive way.

"You're going to want to come with me," it said, and now he was aware that the bird had a cool, female voice. "If they find you with your weapon drawn, they will not have a problem with killing and claiming self-defense." She ruffled herself and took flight, flapping twenty feet over to the next tree, where she perched in a branch, turned her head all the way round to see him, and said "Well? Come on."

Numbly, Telemachus propelled himself to join her under her tree.

"You need a plan Telemachus," she said. "Walk with me and I'll give you one."

"But," he said, surprising himself with his ability to speak. "Isn't this running away?" The owl tsked and took off, landing on another branch some twenty feet away again. The youth had no choice but to scramble after her.

"This," said the owl, "Is maintaining a strategic position. Don't you realize where we are? If they want to raid the pigs, they'll cut straight this way; this edge of the forest borders the pens." He reached her at her tree and she took off again, Telemachus struggling to fight through underbrush and pay attention to her words as she flew. "Should they see you," she continued. "You would certainly meet a nasty end. If you stay ahead of them, you make time to form a plan. Do you see?"

"Yes," Telemachus replied, slightly out of breath; she promptly took off for the next tree.

The owl's words made sense; Telemachus was embarrassed he hadn't figured as much out without her help. Now that he was listening for it, he realized that the crashes behind them had not receded as they should have if the men were left in clearing—Antinous and Eurymachus were on their trail. Further abashed, Telemachus ducked his head with a blush and joined the owl in the tree above. She glanced down at him and seemed to have some pity for his shame.

"Don't take it like that," she said, not unkindly. "One day, you will know how to make plans for yourself, when a true hero teaches you the way. For now though, I will tell you what to do. And you will listen."

"Because you are a goddess," said Telemachus. The owl cut her eyes at him almost slyly.

"Very good, young prince," she said, more to herself than anything. "Hope isn't lost, I see."

"What should I do?" Telemachus asked, feeling bolder. In reply, the owl swooped far ahead, forty, fifty feet and landed out of sight, just beyond a bit of scrub. The boy skidded through the brambles and vines to reach her, ever keeping an ear out for the voices not far behind, and collapsed on the ground beside the great, plump bird.

"When you hear them begin to draw near," said the owl. "Make a great noise, rustle the branches of this bush, and bellow. Your voice is still just dropping, is it not?"

Telemachus blushed and nodded; Penelope had pointed this out to him not two mornings before. The owl nodded. "I can guarantee your voice be strong like an adult's," she said, "But you must invoke it with fury of a man. To protect the pigs and to put you to the test. Can you do this?"

"Could they kill me?" he asked baldly, not to be impertinent but only to clarify. The owl did not blink.

"Yes," she said. "If they discover you, they would. Now—can you do this?"

Looking into those enormous, black, orb-like eyes was perhaps one of the most daunting things Telemachus had ever done. If he promised her this, it seemed as though he was promising to so many things. A 'yes' now proved he was ready—how far might that extend?

"I can," said the prince evenly.

The owl ruffled herself again and if Telemachus wasn't mistaken, there was a hint of triumph in her eyes.

"Prudent," she remarked shortly, and like a puff of sea vapor, she was gone.

Telemachus blinked in surprise but there was no trace of her, the grass that had just been under her talons was not even bent. However, before he could marvel a moment more, a noise close by alerted him to the presence of Eurymachus and Antinous again.

Quickly, he stowed away Silver Tooth and huddled himself under the bush for better concealment; just as he was pleased with his coverage, the voices of the two men became close enough to be distinct.

"...Amphimedon would be willing I think. He's always found the queen attractive and has never taken a wife himself..."

"...And we could send a message to the men of Zacynthus. They would certainly add to our numbers. And to Dulichium! With them, no one would question us..."

Telemachus clenched his teeth in anger and felt a pull towards the sharp weapon at this side, but a flash of the owl eyes in his mind was enough to reapply him to the task at hand. He chanced a glance through the leaves and saw that the two men were indeed drawing up close, surely within range of his bush.

Steadying himself with a breath and taking hold of the bush by its thick, trunky sprouts, Telemachus let loose with a great roar, dashing the tall bush this way and that and stamping his feet for all he was worth. His voice, amplified and lowered by the goddess, came from his mouth like the bellow of a hippopotamus, with all the fury a wild boar. Immediately, there was a muffled shout from the two men, and Telemachus heard a twig snap sharply, as though someone had just leapt back upon it. Smiling to himself, he threw his full weight against the brush, taking heart when he saw that it shook the plants around it, transforming the area about him into a giant, trembling mass, apparently concealing a creature of fearsome might.

"Eurymachus," cried Antinous. "Eurymachus, have you ever seen a beast such as this!?"

"No," replied Eurymachus, shouting over Telemachus' roars. "Never a creature like this—did you see that!? The teeth just there!"

"Yes!" cried Antinous, foolishly, his mind going wild with fearful imagination. "There!" he said a moment later "A flash of teeth—look! the claws reaching around that trunk—" There was the tell-tale _shink_ of sword-on-scabbard as the man apparently unsheathed his weapon but immediately Eurymachus shouted:

"Don't be a fool! A creature such as this could only be sent from the gods. It's an omen!"

"Should we—?" Antinous began, but before he could finish the thought aloud Telemachus summoned a great strength from within and let out a tremendous bawl, answered instantly with the sounds of two people crashing through the woods in the opposite direction. He waited a moment, hardly believing that he'd just frightened off two grown men—with the help of a goddess of course, but that in no way diminished these past few bizarre minutes—before daring to peak out from his bush.

As expected, the men may well have vanished as had the owl—now, there was no trace.

Telemachus regained his feet and looked around, the feeling of incredulity sinking in. Had that really just happened? He'd have no way to prove it others, or even to himself at this point, if not for the scratches on his palms where he'd stumbled away when the owl landed in front of him. He looked around to see if she was anywhere nearby, watching from a tree perhaps, but she was nowhere to be found.

" _Athena_ ," he breathed, suddenly and finally understanding. His mother's lessons on etiquette and honor filled his mind and he jumped. Did the gods become angry when a grateful sacrifice was not immediately burned? Did they wait? He was inexperienced in this direct relations with the gods, never had his prayers been answered promptly, now there was immediate contact and assistance. He jumped to attention and plunged off through the woods again, risking the scrapes of branches and brambles to get home as fast as he could and sacrifice a great pig for the worthy goddess, the goat of the morning now long-forgotten.

Far above, an owl soared over the treetops, watching through the canopy as the underbrush rustled in a direct path home as fast as possible. She sighed and angled herself such that she soon lighted in the tops of a young olive tree and warmed herself in the sunbeam shafted down upon it, her eyes ever on the rustling that she knew was Telemachus. She had heard his prayer and much though she knew he was on his way to make fine sacrifices to her, she had to carry this plan out to the end. With a nod of her beak, she sent a fog through the woods and to the young man's mind, clouding over his memories, and watched as the rustling slowed.

He would not remember their encounter, nor his frightening Eurymachus and Antinous, but would safely assume he'd become distracted in his searching for the goat she'd loosed that morning in her human form. Though she knew she would not get her libation, Telemachus would one day honor her so greatly that today's losses would not matter.

The owl ruffled herself again and took off from the olive tree, wheeling around the copse for a moment before turning towards Ida. Today she had accomplished much, she thought. Of course, they had only delayed the inevitable actions of the suitors, who she knew would soon court Penelope and move into Odysseus' home; that much was sure to happen. But what mattered was that she was now sure of Telemachus' mettle; someday soon when she let Odysseus return, she would have no need to question or test the young man further—he was able and ready to follow and listen with the bravery he needed.

The owl glanced down at the landscape below her—the island she was just passing over looked oddly reminiscent of Ogygia, where she knew her beloved Odysseus was spending his days cursing the waves that distanced him from home. Yes, it was good that she'd tested Telemachus now while he was young, and good that she had cleared his memory of the test. Son ought to learn from father; when she did bring the family of Ithaca back together, they would share those memories together.

Pleased with herself, the owl put on an extra burst of godly speed and soon returned to her home on Olympus.


End file.
